The Delegation of Power
by Amid Much Hysteria
Summary: Negan's right-hand man, Simon, is heading the trades with Alexandria and has taken a particular interest in their leader, Rick Grimes. It's well-known in Alexandria that Simon tends to abuse his power, and Rick, who will go to great lengths to protect his son and prevent the loss of any more of his people, suffers the brunt of it. Rick/Simon, Rick/Negan, Slash, NONCON Elements


What the fuck was going on?

His eyes burned and sweat was quickly seeping through his shirt.

Rick couldn't process what was happening fast enough. When he tried to lean toward the door to get a look at Carl in the next room, Simon started speaking again, demanding his attention.

He seemed to think Rick didn't afford him the same respect as Negan. Rick didn't. He understood the game though. Give 'em what they want and let 'em be on their way. Simon seemed to want to make it personal though.

Shifting his weight idly, Rick waited to hear what the man wanted. As best he could, he trained his attention to the tall man in the center of his kitchen and not on the group in the next room. _God,_ if he could just get Carl in his sights though. His eyes trailed once more to the door.

Simon had said he wouldn't do anything to Carl, but this was _Negan's man._ If Rick knew nothing else about him, that would be enough. What was worse though was that Simon had this overblown sense of entitlement about him. You'd think he was Negan himself the way he sauntered around, dispensing orders and fucking with the Alexandrians. Rick had his type pegged back in the woods: weaselly, sneaky, ass-kissers who neither earned nor knew how to handle leadership but who were convinced they did. Rick had met plenty of _Simons_ in his life. Even had to put down a few since the end of the world. Usually, Rick didn't give Simon's type more than a passing glance. Guys like that were only dangerous if they were given power.

That was the thing about the end of the world though. People you wouldn't have been able to pick out of a line-up of one, suddenly had whole arsenals of guns and goons at their disposal, and were busting into Rick's home, demanding half his shit and holding a gun to his son's head.

"You listenin' to me, Rick?"

A snap of fingers near his face brought Rick's attention back to the lanky man in front of him. He swallowed hard and steadied his breathing.

"What do you want," Rick asked, because Simon definitely wanted something, and if it would get him and his two fellow Saviors out of Rick's house and away from Carl, Rick sure as hell would give it to him.

"Easy there. Easy there. I pulled you over here so your son wouldn't have to see his pop getting put down—if it comes to that. I thought you'd appreciate it. Doesn't need to go that way though."

Rick's head was spinning. He couldn't hear Carl or either of the other two Saviors. He tried to lean toward the entryway again to catch a glimpse of them in the living room but a long arm barred his way. Rick's eyes followed the limb back up to the mustached face of Negan's right-hand man, who was staring down at Rick with something like disappointment.

"I told you already, the boy's gonna be just fine. Long as you don't do nothing stupid. But you behaving like this tells me you don't trust me. You saying I'm not a man of my word, Rick?"

Rick tried to keep his eyes fixed on the other man but Simon's face kept going in and out of focus as Rick's attention was tugged by sounds from the next room.

"Rick?" Simon leaned in, filling the full landscape of Ricks view.

"No," Rick said, a rigid shake of his head following after.

"No what?"

"Not saying that."

"That's good. Nobody has to get hurt as long as you do everything I say. I'll be good to you if you're good to me, Rick. You keep up the hospitality and Negan won't hear nothing but good things."

Simon's voice was fading in and out again, and Rick let it as his thoughts drifted back to the sounds that might've indicated a struggle in the next room. After a while, he noticed Simon was staring at him expectantly.

"Yes," Rick answered, quickly playing back the man's last words in his head.

"Say it."

"I trust you." His voice was mechanical as he set himself on autopilot, only responding when prompted but registering little. His chest was aching as his heart pounded within it. He wished to God the man would just get to what he wanted, but he was going out of his way to toy with him.

This game wasn't new to Rick. He knew how to deal with men like Simon. Just keep your head down and answer respectfully. It wasn't unlike getting pulled over. Nine times out of ten, Rick gave out warnings in place of tickets just for good manners alone.

Simon was taking particular enjoyment out of Rick's subjugation though. It seemed like all it took was Negan leaving him alone for five minutes. Now the man was drunk with his heightened responsibility. He seemed bent on being more Negan than Negan.

The big difference between Negan and Simon though was that Negan knew he was a leader. Within ten seconds of meeting the man, everyone knew it. He didn't need to advertise. The show was just an added bonus for him. Simon, on the other hand, was nothing without the show, certainly nothing without Negan.

Rick was prompted to answer again and did so, keeping his voice level. Simon seemed pleased, his gaze drenched in condescension. Rick was fanning the man's ego, which was a dangerous thing for someone like Simon, he knew. Still, he had to keep him happy, at least until Carl was out of harm's way.

He didn't know if he'd been phasing the man's voice out again or if Simon had just gone silent, but Rick's ears were pounding from the dense quiet. He couldn't hear a damn thing in the other room. He didn't know what worried him more: the sounds of rustling that might have indicated a struggle, or the silence, which left far too much to Rick's imagination.

It was just too damn quiet out there.

Without thinking, Rick moved toward the doorway but was stopped by Simon's voice.

"Not finished here, Rick," he said, his tone a perceptible warning. "Thought you said you trusted me."

Rick froze, fists clenched around sweaty palms. The rest of his body was damp too. A chill ran through him. Somehow he was both shaking his head and nodding at the same time.

"Yes. yes," he said, desperate to give the man what he wanted. "I trust you." His eyes darted from Simon to the door and back again. "Please, just—"

"Please, what, Rick?"

Rick still hadn't heard anything in the next room. His eyes bore into Simon. What the hell did the man want?

Taking a breath to steady himself, Rick looked at the ground, then back up to Simon.

"What do you want?" He asked, straining to keep the contempt from his voice. What came out sounded more like a plea.

A big smile spread across Simon's broad mouth and Rick felt his stomach churn.

Simon rocked happily on his heels a moment, appraising the room around him as if he'd been waiting for Rick to ask. "Well, let's see," he sang. "I'll take that cast iron pan there, that alarm clock, that cute bird clock too, come to think of it. That picture with the country landscape…Well, hop to it, Rick! What are you doing standing there? That shit won't gather itself up."

Rick jerked into action, feeling his muscles creak in protest like he'd been holding himself in that position for years. As he began quickly gathering the supplies, Simon continued listing off items.

"And I noticed you weren't writing any of that down. I better not be missing anything, Rick."

Rick stacked the items on top of each other as neatly as he could with the pan on bottom, and leaned the picture frame against the cupboard beneath the pile. When he thought he'd collected everything listed, he moved back to his place near the door.

"Good, good," Simon said, sifting through the pile of cookware and appliances. "Damn, y'all are living _good_ here!"

Simon continued making comments about the loot and Rick was relieved for the distraction, taking the opportunity to listen in on the living room.

There were voices, Rick was sure of it. He angled his ear to hone in on what might have been Carl's voice. At once he felt relief and dread.

 _Don't threaten them,_ Rick prayed. Too easily, he could imagine the young man slinging insults at his Savior captors until one of them got fed up and dished out a capitol punishment without a word from Simon.

 _Just keep cool, Carl. Please. Just a little longer._

When Simon's words caught up to him, Rick blinked and stared at the man, who at some point had reclaimed his position in the center of the room.

"What?" Rick said.

" _What,_ " Simon mimicked, and Rick wondered if he'd really sounded that stunned. "You heard me, Rick. Your shirt. I want it."

Rick continued to stare, feeling only more at a loss. Unconsciously his eyes went down to his shirt and back up to Simon, who was watching him with the same casual expectancy as when he'd rattled off his list of appliances.

"My…" Rick began, but couldn't make the connection in his head.

"Your _shirt_ , Grimes. What the fuck? You gone stupid or what?"

Rick's expression must have mirrored his thoughts, because Simon was fast in his face again.

"Or maybe you're just making trouble? Is that it, Rick? You trying to make trouble for your people? 'Cause I'll tell you what, I'll shut that shit down right here."

The use of Negan's own particular brand of phrasing wasn't lost on Rick but was only a distant echo amidst the barrage of mismatched information swarming around his head.

Simon's tone seemed to shift as he picked up on Rick's inner struggle.

"Look, I'll make this real simple for you: You take your shirt off and give it to me, and I won't have to take it out on your boy out there. Got it, Rick?" The tone was gentle but the words themselves struck deep.

Although the mere mention of Carl was enough to shock Rick into any action, when he reached for the buttons of his shirt to give the man what he wanted, he kept stopping short as if hitting an invisible barrier.

It wasn't just his pride that arrested his shaky hands— though there was a sliver of that left, despite all Rick had been through. No, what made him hesitate was a small and seemingly meaningless scrap of information that kept flitting around Rick's head, holding up the more important processes and impeding Rick's basic functions. He just couldn't stop thinking about how _tall_ Simon was. Damn tall. At least a head taller than Rick, and long-limbed as anything. What the hell did he want Rick's shirt for? It wasn't going to fit him. On a whim, he thought of asking if it was for someone else, but disposed of the thought nearly as quickly as it arose.

 _Ridiculous_. The whole thing was ridiculous. What did it matter what he would do with it? Just give him the damn shirt.

But the thought kept buzzing in his ear like a nat, and Rick was sure he was going mad. At a time when the dead walked the earth, and his friends were being picked off like animals, and his son was in the next room with a gun pressed to his head, Rick couldn't stop thinking about how absurd Simon would look trying to fit into his shirt.

Carl. Carl in the next room.

 _Carl._

 _"Rick."_

Like a taut cord that finally snapped, Rick broke through the haze. As if of their own accord, his hands rose to the button's of his shirt. His eyes stayed ahead on Simon, though Rick barely registered the man. His fingers moved slowly as his mind was elsewhere.

Simon must not have minded the deliberate pace of Rick's fingers because he didn't goad Rick on or chastise him for taking his time.

Mechanically, Rick pulled the tucked flaps out from his waistband, unfastened the remaining buttons and slid the shirt off his bare shoulders.

As Rick held the discarded shirt out, he stared at the floor. It wasn't any ploy to placate the other man's ego; Rick found he couldn't bring himself to meet Simon's eyes. It was as if the simple removal of his shirt had left Rick bare in more ways than just physically.

When Simon didn't immediately take the proffered shirt, Rick's eyes drifted upward. Only when their eyes met, did Simon finally reach out to accept the garment, taking his sweet damn time in the act, Rick noted.

Rick took a breath and straightened himself, telling himself that it was only a shirt he was handing over. It wasn't any different from anything else these men had come in and taken from them, and certainly not the worst thing. Somehow it felt oddly personal though. He couldn't help thinking that that was what Simon had intended. He didn't think the weaselly man was capable of such obscure power-play though. Rick wondered, with a creeping dread, if he'd underestimated Negan's right-hand man.

"The belt."

Rick looked up.

With his thick brows raised high, Simon waited.

Slowly, Rick's hands moved to his waistband. It wasn't as daunting as the previous request, and didn't occupy as many of Rick's faculties to process it. Still, the idea that another layer was about to be stripped from him was hard to swallow. Before reaching the buckle, Rick's hands seemed to hit another barrier.

"No," he said.

"What was that?"

Rick's hands fell to his sides.

Simon was fucking with him. That's what this was. Just fucking with him. It wasn't about the shirt or the belt. He'd seen how Rick didn't afford him the same respect as Negan and now the petty man was taking it out on him the only way he could: kicking a man while he was down.

Rick couldn't play along anymore. It was easier to grit his teeth and bear it when it wasn't so damn petty. Rick couldn't reconcile giving this much to a guy who wasn't even _Negan,_ and all to satiate some moronic power trip.

"Not doing it." Rick stuck out his chin and stared the other man down.

"I don't know if you forgot already or if you're just playin' dense, but I'll explain again for you." Simon's voice rose and Rick heard shifting in the other room as the others seemed to now be listening in on them. "We take what we want. That's _our_ part. _Your_ part is you give it up. Now I want that belt you're wearing. It's a good belt. Give it up."

Rick grit his teeth, caging in his tongue. It was no use though; his inaction was rebellion enough.

"Sid," Simon called to one of the men in the other room.

Rick's breath caught in his chest.

"You got that nice baton we picked up from The Kingdom the other day?" Simon's brown eyes never left Rick's.

"Oh yeah," the man called Sid replied.

"You ever get a chance to try it out— Hey! _stay the fuck right there!_ " Simon caught Rick as the possessed man made a dash for the door.

"Dad!" Came Carl's voice.

Simon barred Rick in with his arms while Rick shoved wildly at him. The combination of Simon's larger mass and cooler head kept Rick boxed in.

"Carl!"

"Everything alright in there?" The second Savior called.

Rick was panting from panic and exertion, his body now covered in sweat and his damp and tussled curls hanging in his face. He heard sounds of struggling and knew that Carl too was fighting.

Vaguely, he realized Simon was watching him, inches away from his face as he used his chest to pin Rick against the wall. He was waiting. Rick understood without the other man having to say it:

It was up to Rick now what happened next.

"Simon!" Sid called again, sounding more concerned. The creaking of footsteps neared the kitchen.

"It's alright. We're good," Simon said at last, before the other Savior could come any nearer. Rick was partly relieved not to have the audience. He remembered he was bare from the waist up and his dignity was already depleted enough without having to endure the confused stare of someone walking in on this.

"We're good, right?" Simon said near his ear, voice low so only Rick heard.

Again, Rick found he was unable to meet the other man's eyes. He swallowed and gave a stiff nod.

"That's good," Simon said, easing off of the smaller man a little and taking a half-step back. He was still near enough to be imposing and it was a while before Rick could bring his eyes up to meet his.

"I'm alright, Carl," Rick called to the other room when he'd gotten his breathing under control. "You alright?"

When there wasn't an answer, Rick's eyes traveled warily to Simon.

Simon's smile came slow. "Go ahead an let him answer," he called at last.

"M'alright, Dad. I'm alright," Carl answered with a small cough. Rick felt like he'd been socked in the chest. A warm stream glided down his cheek and he took a breath for what felt like the first time in ten minutes.

"Alright," Rick said to Simon after he'd gathered himself. "I get it." His hand worked quickly this time, unfastening his belt with a practiced proficiency. A couple of tugs released if from his waistband. "Take it." He held the belt out to the other man as he'd done the shirt.

With a big smile, Simon took it. Then, with both Rick's shirt and belt in hand, Simon unceremoniously tossed them both on the ground.

"Pants," he said.

Brow furrowed in confusion, Rick eyed the discarded garments on the ground. When he looked at Simon, the taller man's expression hadn't changed.

The threat on Carl's life was too fresh now and Rick himself too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to protest, so it was with a mechanical resignation that his hands moved once more to his waistband.

Although he knew how Simon would react if he resisted again, Rick found he couldn't get his leaden fingers to work the button of his pants loose. He wanted it to come loose- _needed_ it to come loose- in order to give Simon what he wanted and to get him and his friends out of the house, but his fingers had become clumsy and useless and Rick couldn't get them to cooperate.

"Having problems?"

Rick's eyes snapped upward to Simon who was suddenly in front of him. So dazed, he hadn't noticed when the man had stepped forward. His overbearing closeness reminded Rick, not for the first time, of Negan's similar disregard for his personal space. Still, like with everything else of Simon's, his presence held a different sort of weight to it. Where Negan danced along the fine line between invasion and carefully honed restraint, fully aware of the power of tension, Simon was tactless and blunt as he breeched Rick's borders.

Simon's hands shoved Rick's aside as he took up the job of unbuttoning the jeans. He didn't seem to fair much better because it took a moment before the button snapped open audibly, exposing the waistband of Rick's boxers beneath. Only later would Rick realize that Simon had in fact broken the button with the force of his impatience.

Rick watched silently a moment, feeling as if he were out of his body observing the scene from a distance. Rick's zipper went down next. Simon slid it down with an almost sensual slowness that seemed strange after the violent force with which he'd dispensed of the button. When the scrape of calloused thumbs met Rick's waist, he came slamming back into his body, his hands reaching forward at once, his head shaking in a silent disapproval, his brow furrowed in question.

This wasn't right. Whatever was happening before was a thing entirely separate from this. _That,_ he could grit his teeth and bear. _This…_ Rick wasn't even sure what _this_ was.

Simon only smiled at him, that familiar condescension twinkling in his brown eyes.

"One word from me, Rick. Remember. That boy of yours…"

Simon didn't need to finish. Rick didn't relieve his grip on the other man's wrists but stopped trying to push them away.

" _Christ_ , you're so fucking pretty," Simon said, in a tone that sounded somehow scathing to Rick.

The taller man craned his neck down to whisper things low and gruff next to Rick's ear. Rick could only shake his head stupidly, his attention pulled downward, where large hands slowly pressed the waistband of his jeans down his hips, letting them fall to his ankles.

Simon's face was very near his, too near. Rick's reeling mind fought to pay attention to what he was saying, to make some damn sense of it, but he only managed to cling onto a few words.

"I know" the man kept saying. _I know—_ he knew what? What did he know? Simon's hands were on his skin but Rick felt once more like an outsider.

He heard a voice, soft but nearer than Simon's snake-like hisses, and guessed that it was his own.

"Stop," it said.

"Don't act like Negan didn't break you in. Y'all were gone a long time in that trailer. Jesus, he know's how to pick 'em. Bet he broke you in good."

"S-stop."

His attention kept shifting to the living room but all he could hear was his own heavy breathing and Simon's hissing.

"I get it. You belong to Negan now. Lucky for us, we're all Negan. Just give me a little bit of what you gave him. Just a little taste." Rick tried to twist his neck back from the intruding mouth that was leaving wet trails from Rick's shoulder to his jaw.

The whole thing was spiraling away from any kind of sense and Rick couldn't keep up. What had Simon said about the trailer?

Axe on the roof. _Get my axe, Rick_

Simon's breath was hot in his ear.

"What are you doing?" Some part of Rick was still back at when Simon had asked for his pants. Simon wanted his pants. He wanted them, but the man was clearly too tall. It made as much sense as the man wanting his shirt. Then the way he'd just tossed it and the belt aside. Probably, he'd just burn them like they'd burned the mattresses.

"He use your mouth or your ass? Fuck, he used your ass, didn't he? Saw the way you were limpin' back. God _damn_ , he had you begging on your knees. Jesus, you beg so sweet. He gentled you real good, didn't he?"

Simon nuzzle Rick's neck, His tall figure curling over him, his long arms wrapped around Rick's hips and trapping him against his body.

"Did he get you all wet? Make a mess of you? Bet he made you mewl like a bitch."

 _Bitch_. Rick blinked hard. That's what Negan had said as they'd dragged Daryl away. Rick's head had been moving just as sluggishly then as it was now. Why couldn't he get a hold on what was happening?

"Let me feel that sweet cunt of yours."

A hand was suddenly diving down the back of Rick's boxers and a thick calloused finger was pressed between he cheeks. The shock of the foreign violation was like a bucket of ice water on Rick's head.

Without a thought, he shoved Simon away. The taller man tumbled backward, landing splayed on the kitchen floor, where he gaped up at Rick in surprise.

Rick, whose ankles were still caught in his bunched jeans, was also knocked backward by the force of the blow. Leaning heavily against the wall, he quickly yanked his jeans back up around his waist.

By then, Simon had recovered from the fall and began to rise and advance on Rick, but the slighter man was prepared and fully alert now. He leapt forward and kicked Simon square in the face, propelling him back again. From beneath his hands clasped tightly over his nose, Simon heaved an agonized groan.

"Simon! What the fuck is going on?"

Rick turned toward the source of the shout and Simon took the distraction as an opportunity to kick Rick's legs out from under him. Once he found his feet, Simon managed to get in two hard kicks to Rick's bare side before pausing for a breath.

As Rick cradled his aching ribs, he heard Simon's hobbling footsteps moving away from him. When Rick cracked open his eyes he saw that Simon wasn't going for the door, but moving toward the table.

His gun, Rick realized. He'd left it there, seeing no need for it what with how _gentled_ Rick was.

Scrambling to his feet, Rick charged the man before he could reach the weapon. In a flash of noise a light, they were careening through pane glass and tumbling over thorn bushes.

For a moment afterward, Rick lay disoriented, feeling dizzy as he scanned his surroundings. The grass beneath him let him know that he was no longer in the kitchen but now outside the house. The broken glass shards surrounding him and pinching into his forearms let him know that he'd tackled Simon through the kitchen window. Luckily, Simon had taken much of the impact.

The man in question was on his back not far from Rick. Spots of blood blossomed from various areas of his shirt. Rick immediately crawled over to him before the Savior had a chance to find his bearings.

The sound of a pistol cocking was a distant echo as Rick's fists rained down on Simon's head. With Rick mounting his chest, there was nothing Simon could do but take the punishing blows. Rick saw red as he bludgeoned the man and would later remember very little. In that moment he was a feral animal and the suburbs around him a wavering mirage. He knew nothing in that moment but the feel of skull beneath his fists, and would have likely killed the man if it hadn't been for the voice that called him out out of is haze.

"Dad!"

Rick turned to see Carl standing on the porch with Sid the Savior holding the barrel of a gun to his back. At once, Rick's eyes drifted to his own bloodied fists and then down to the bloodied man beneath him. After a moment, his fists loosened and he crawled off of the unresponsive Simon to kneel instead in the grass beside him.

Rick held up his empty hands to signify to Carl's captors that he was done. His mouth opened to form some plea, but was cut off.

"The fucks your shirt, Rick?"

Rick turned to see Negan standing by the mail box, one foot up on the curb as he took in the scene.

A sizable crowd of people had also formed in the street and Rick couldn't help burning from the thought of the spectacle he'd made.

He heard a groaning beside him as Simon stirred.

"That Simon?" Negan asked, pointing his barbed bat at the bloodied, motionless body of his right-hand man. "Is he dead?"

Immediately, a female Savior ran up and knelt next to Simon, a hand finding a spot beneath his jaw.

"He's alive," she said promptly. "Just unconscious."

"Seriously, what the fuck happened here?" Negan bellowed, directing his attention now toward the group around the porch. He looked from Simon, to the glass, to the window, and at last back to Rick, who was still kneeling in the grass. "You did this?"

Rick gaped wordlessly, struggling to form words. Breathing deeply, his eyes scanned the ground as if he might find a suitable answer among the broken glass.

"Jimmeny Christmas, am I talking to myself here? Will _someone_ tell me what the fuck I missed?"

Sid seemed to find his voice.

"Grimes," he said, as if no more explanation was warranted.

"Well, I'd gotten that far," Negan hooted, eyes wide and boisterous. "I can't leave you alone for ten minutes can I, Rick?"

Rick felt himself moving, head shaking in dispute. He needed to stop this from escalating. Carl still had a gun pressed to his back. Rick couldn't let this happen again.

"I thought we were past this, Rick," Negan sighed as he stalked up the lawn toward the man, Lucille hoisted over one shoulder. "I thought I made it clear that I don't like when you attack my people. Did we not already have that talk? I could have _sworn_ we had that talk, Rick. But _Damn._ I guess I was just wasting my goddamn breath." He sighed. "I try to _delegate_. I try to _send a guy_. But I can't just fuckin' relax with you people, can I? No. I gotta come down here and deal with this shit myself like there isn't fuckin' just one of me."

At once, Rick's vision was filled with Negan as the larger man squatted down to his level. Rick flinched at the closeness. If it weren't for the sun in the sky and the grass beneath his hands and knees, Rick could swear he was back in the woods with Sasha to his left and Abraham's bludgeoned corpse to his right. He could even feel the still-warm splatter of the red-head's blood across his cheek.

"Do I need to show you again what it feels like to have someone fuck with your people, Rick?"

Rick was babbling nonsense, pleas, promises, not sure if any of it was coming out in discernible English.

If Negan understood any of it, he didn't seem swayed.

"Shh-shh-shh," he said softly, holding a leather-clad finger to his lips. "Just tell me this. What happened here? Why'd you do that to Simon? I don't like when you do that to Simon. Is it like my friend, Sid, says? Are you just being a problem for me today, Rick?"

Rick's breaths were coming in harsh. His eyes flickered for a moment to Simon laying motionless in the grass, his face a canvas of deep red.

Rick had no interest in protecting the man and felt no sympathy. Still, he couldn't bring himself to say the words to damn him. Somehow he just couldn't say it.

He thought back to the feeling of the man's hands on him, touching him with such ownership. Rick had been able to quickly get his pants back on but still felt naked. He became very aware of Carl's presence behind him. The weight of the young man's stare was like an anvil on his shoulders.

"Welp!" Negan announced, rising smoothly with his arms outstretched. "Guess I'll just have to make somethin' up. Can't get a fucking peep out of this one. What, killer? You got a story for me?"

In his peripheral view, Rick saw Lucille swing upward as Negan pointed the bat toward the porch.

The yard was silent as the object of Lucille's aim gave no response.

"An icy stare is not an answer, kid, I don't care how fucking badass it is," Negan said at last and let the bat drop to his side. "So, from what I understand: Ol' Rick and Simon come barreling through a window, beating the ever-living shit out of each other, and no one but these two shits has any idea what the fuck started it? Not even one goddamn witness?"

"He… he told us to stay back." Rick guessed it was Sid again, though the Savior's voice sounded smaller than it had in the house when he'd been ordering Rick and Carl around.

"He wanted to be alone," Negan elaborated and Sid gave a soft confirmation. "With Rick. He wanted to be alone with Rick." Another confirmation from Sid. "And you guys just let him be. Just said— _fuck it_ — let him go off alone with the guy who took down a shit-ton of my men. Sounds right. Real fuckin' smart. Why don't we fucking do- _that_."

"Simon had his gun," Sid offered.

"Do you see a fucking gun around here, Sid? Oh snap, there it is! It's in the _fucking bushes._ It'll be a real fucking help over there, iSid/i. Oh, thank Jesus for that."

Silence.

Rick couldn't move from where he sat. He was frozen as his fingers dug into the cool soil.

"Alright, Rick," Negan said, towering over where Rick kelt, making him no less imposing than when he was invading Rick's space. "Unless you've grown a tongue in the last thirty seconds, I'm about to get _real_ fuckin' irate."

Rick's throat felt like paper. The eyes of everyone in the neighborhood were fixed on him, but he couldn't say it. Couldn't speak. Carl was behind him, watching him. Rick couldn't say it.

"Oh. My. God. Alright, Rick. Since you're so damn bent and determined to get someone dead today, I will fucking oblige you. Goddammit, I thought this was gonna be an easy day. Arat, bring me that curly-haired fuck! Time to get the tears flowing!"

Rick turned his head so fast he got whiplash. From the center of the crowd of people gathered in the street, a heavily armed woman emerged dragging Aaron behind her.

"On your knees, prick," she barked.

"No!" Rick screamed and Negan turned with a looked of genuine surprise. "It was me. It was me. I fucked up. It was me. _Please_."

Slowly, Negan sauntered back to Rick. Taking Lucile in both hands, he knelt down once more in front of him. Rick was rocking on his heels, panting heavily. All at once, there was no division between the morning in the clearing with everyone lined up on their knees, and now with Aaron in Rick's sight and the bloodied body lying next to him. It was all the same, and he couldn't lose Aaron next.

"You're saying," Negan said, voice measured and thoughtful. "All this was your fault? You instigated this?" Negan indicated with the butt of Lucille toward Simon in the grass.

Dropping his eyes, Rick felt himself nodding.

"Yes. It was me," he said. "I'm s-sorry. I'm sorry."

There was a prolonged silence as Rick felt Negan's eyes trailing over him. He was reminded again that he was without a shirt and felt a flush rise.

"Rules still hard to swallow," Negan said at last.

Rick's head sank further as he awaited the punishment, but he thought there was something noncommittal in Negan's tone, a wary reluctance.

"Alright," Negan announced, rising laboriously. "Take the rest of their beds. I want that glass cleaned up next time I'm here. Got kids runnin' around and shit. Somebody grab Simon's dumbass."

As the leader of the Saviors walked away, Rick was left in the grass, shell-shocked but otherwise unharmed. Ahead of him, Aaron too had been left. His partner had leapt forward from the crowd of Alexandirans as soon as the Saviors had begun clearing, and now held Aaron in a tight embrace.

The next thing Rick felt was arms wrapped around his own shoulders as Carl appeared at his back to embrace him.

It meant that the two Saviors that had been holding guns on him were leaving. The sight of Sid stumbling after Negan confirmed it. The pudgy Savior was speaking to the leader, gesturing backward at Rick, who didn't have to hear what he was saying to know that Sid was probably complaining about the lenience of Negan's response. Rick too felt like he'd gotten off easy.

Amidst the crowd, Negan stopped dead, turned to Sid and said something that shut him up quick.

That night as Carl helped him clean and bandage the few cuts he'd sustained in the scrap with Simon, Rick couldn't help noticing how oddly silent his son had been since the Saviors had left. It hadn't been a great day, sure. In fact, lately it seemed like they'd had a string of pretty damn awful days. Still, they'd made it out clear. "No one died," as Negan had said in parting. There was a palpable tension though, and Rick felt it most when he tried to meet the boy's eyes or engage him in conversation.

"Something wrong?" He asked finally, too exhausted and too sore to keep ignoring the growing roughness in the boy's touch.

Carl made a sound like a scoff as he pressed a cotton swab soaked in peroxide firmly over a cut on Rick's back, making the older man flinch slightly.

"Carl, what is it?"

With the boy at his back, Rick couldn't see his son's face but heard the deep rallying breath.

"What happened, Dad?" Carl asked at last.

Rick fought his body's impulse to stiffen, knowing Carl would notice it.

"Not sure," he said, which wasn't a lie. "Things just… got out of hand."

Carl seemed to accept this, and in the silence that followed, Rick felt relief that he had somehow managed in a phrase to move them past this, and he'd done it without having to lie to his son. But then Carl spoke again.

"What happened to your shirt?" There was a timer in his voice, something ticking beneath the surface.

Rick swallowed, feeling his son watching him closely. Once more, he chose honesty.

"He wanted it."

Carl's hands left him.

"He wanted... _your shirt_?" the teen asked. From his incredulous tone, Carl seemed to be having as much difficulty processing the idea as Rick had when he'd first heard the request.

Fighting to keep his voice even, Rick answered. "Yeah."

All at once, he felt like he was back in the kitchen, with Simon listing off his commands that sounded as strange to Rick as if they were in a different language, and all the while watching Rick with those large eyes that peeled him apart. He felt a cold sweat overtake his body.

Again, Carl was too silent.

"And all that stuff in the kitchen," Rick added, turning his head to try to see what his son was doing behind him. "Left it all behind though." He gave a soft laugh which hurt a little. "Must've forgotten about it, what with the…concussion."

Rick felt Carl's hands return to gently apply a salve to one of the larger cuts on the back of his arm.

"Was that when you started fighting him?" Carl asked softly. "When he asked for your shirt?"

Rick sniffed, nodding. "Yeah, that was about it." He thought about making a joke about how Negan's group had gone so far as to start stealing the shirts off people's backs, but couldn't find the humor in it at the moment.

"Your belt was down there." The tenderness in Carl's tone was all but gone. "He wanted that too?"

Rick's head fell forward and he was glad Carl was behind him.

"Yeah," he said, more softly than he meant to.

He lifted his arm slightly so Carl could wrap a band of gauze around it.

At some point, Rick had stopped trying to control his breathing. The weight of Carl's scrutiny was dense in the room and almost overwhelming. He felt like he was already exposed and they were both now just ignoring the obvious. One damning bit of evidence haunted Rick still. He'd been fast enough to get the pants on but not fast enough to fasten them. No one had gotten as close to him as Carl after the Saviors had gone, and likely wouldn't have noticed. In that moment, Rick's head was scattered all over and when he noticed, it was already too late. He remembered how the teen's eyes had flicked downward to the opening of his jeans then back up. It was also then that Rick fist noticed that Simon had broken the button when he'd opened his pants. The knowledge and memory together made Rick's face burn hot and he couldn't meet his son's eyes.

When the next question came, it sounded more like an accusation.

"Did he ask for more, Dad?"

The tear that had been slowly brimming spilled over then as Rick shut his eyes.

"Carl." His voice cracked.

Carl's hands had left him again and Rick felt colder from the distance between them.

"Carl," he said again, turning slowly to his son. "It's not like that."

But it was no use. Having seen and been subjected to so much in his young life, the boy was too wise and it seemed like there was very little Rick could get passed him now. Carl's stare was fierce and confirmed what they both knew, and what neither of them would ever forget.

 _Terminus._

"Is he going to come back?" Carl's voice was low and grave. Although he'd been forced to mature at an unnatural rate in the matter a of few years, there was a fragility simmering beneath the surface. Still, if there was anything left of the innocence in Rick's son it would soon be smothered by the revelation that his father was too weak to stop a man from using him that way, and to continue using him that way if that were the case. Rick couldn't bear Carl knowing, having to see his father sink so low and unable to do anything about it. It was that fear that had kept Rick from speaking as he'd knelt before Negan in the grass earlier that day. Like a giant pit lodged in his throat, the fear of being so shamed in the eyes of his son had rendered him mute.

"Carl." He reached for the boy, but the teen stepped back, face twisting into a snarl.

"Is he coming back?" Carl demanded again, sounding too bitter for someone so young. "Is he going to try it again? "

Rick shook his head wordlessly, rising up from the stool to go to the young man.

"I'll kill him. I'll _kill_ him if he even..." His shoulders rose and he was tense all looked to Rick like a cornered animal, frightened but vicious and ready to lash out.

Slowly, Rick reached out to him.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "It's not like that, Carl. Please."

Then, in a stride, Rick enveloped his son in his arms before he could pull away again. He felt the narrower shoulders shaking.

"That's not what happened," Rick whispered against his son's hair. "It's not. Really, Carl."

Carl's arms were stiff at his sides, his fists balled tight. As Rick held him against him, he could feel his fierce, hot breaths against his neck.

He would have to take it back somehow, deny the whole thing. It was the only way. If Carl tried something, he'd be killed. It wasn't a question. Rick didn't doubt his son's courage nor his love for him, but he _did_ doubt the extent of Negan's lenience.

"It's not what I meant. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Rick soothed until he felt Carl's breathing slow and his arms relax. "Was a misunderstanding. That's all. That's all, Carl. I'm alright. Really."

"He didn't try to…"

" _No, no_ ," Rick urged softly, holding Carl's head tightly against his shoulder and rocking slightly as he would to calm Judith. "I'm so sorry it sounded that way. No, no. It wasn't like that."

He pulled away enough to look into Carl's eyes, which where as red-rimmed and sleep-starved as Rick's likely were. He caught the gleam of tear-streaks down Carl's cheeks and wiped them away with his hand.

"I promise," Rick said, looking his son straight In the eye. "It wasn't nothin' like that. I just…I got a little hot-headed when I thought I heard you in the other room. I didn't think about it. I should have thought. Just a scuffle in the kitchen and it got outta hand is all."

Rick held him there like that for a while, soothing him and assuring him everything was fine, batting away the more specific questions when he could, and lying as little as possible. By the time Carl retired to his room upstairs, Rick was fairly confident that he'd assuaged Carl's fears that anything like _Terminus_ had gone on between him and Simon. While Rick still didn't have a feasible explanation for why he'd been caught in such a state of undress, he thought that with time, he'd be able to think up something. Because Carl was a smart kid, of course he wasn't fully convinced, but Rick would rather Carl have doubts about a lie than be certain about the truth and end up attempting something dangerous.

Later, as Rick lay on the wool blankets in his own room, he felt oddly at peace. It wasn't the biggest lie he'd told his son, but of them all, this one left Rick feeling like he'd done right in keeping something from him. He couldn't bear Carl risking his life on Rick's behalf. If keeping this a secret kept Carl safe, Rick would do it.

He just wished he knew now what it meant going forward.

He felt both regret that he hadn't killed Simon, and relief that Carl had called out to him when he had. If Rick really _had_ killed Simon, then it was doubtful that he would have been able to stop Negan from killing Aaron for reprisal. Still, now that Simon lived. What did it mean for them? For Alexandria? For Rick. He didn't what to think about that, but Carl had been right to pose the question.

" _Will he try it again?"_

Rick had been too stunned to think that far ahead and was only relieved that Carl was safe. That was the important thing.

Now, Rick would need to be careful.


End file.
